Risking Life
by StarvingScriptWriter
Summary: Tony has finally reached his limit. Who will catch him when he falls? Tiva. Judgement day spoilers. Implied adult themes-nothing on screen or graphic.


Risking Life

By Starving Script Writer

7/19/08

Tony stood in the middle of his living room, his bag at his feet where he'd dropped it countless moments ago. His keys remained fisted in his right hand, gouging chunks of flesh from his palm with the ferocity of a grip formed by fingers too numb to unclench. His body remained rigid. A thrumming mass of muscles and tendons that nearly vibrated with the pressure of his ill-contained emotions. His mind remained anesthetized to the outside world, the 62" plasma screen on the wall before him fading into the ether as his apartment dissolved around him and melted into the nightmare world that had taken up residence in his head. A continuous loop bent on reminding him of the horrors of the past few days - horrors that he could have prevented.

The dust choked diner closed in on him, the coppery scent of fresh blood assaulting his sinuses and bringing the hot taste of bile to the back of his throat. Flashes of images strobed across his memory. A pool of blood. An abandoned cell phone. Her unseeing eyes, forever frozen in death. Pieces of a crime scene that would haunt him to the end of his days. The tremors running though his body escalated as an uncontrollable fury took hold, his blood boiling as it surged through his veins. After days of cranking the lid down on his emotions he could no longer hold back the tide of his rage. His vision flashed white-hot, and a ferocious cry exploded from deep in his chest. The tension snapped and he lashed out. He pitched the keys across the room, gouging into the delicate plasma screen, then spun to the right and cleared the shelves of DVD's, trophies and assorted bric-a-brac in one fell swoop. Turning swiftly he flung the full weight of his anger at the shelves, tearing anchors from studs and sending the splintered remains crashing to the floor. His cries, inhuman in their anguish, tumbled in a constant stream and angry tears traced paths down his cheeks as he stumbled through the room, tearing apart anything in his way.

Ziva knew why her instincts led her here, but as she sat outside Tony's apartment, her mini-coup sending plumes of exhaust into the mist of the evening, she questioned the wisdom of her actions. As a Mossad officer, she had been trained to bottle up the things that could make her lose focus - these emotions. Pesky little things, really. Since she'd been in America, working among these people, these men and women with whom she'd spent the majority of her waking hours, she has come to realize the benefits of allowing her hard shell to soften. Still, however, she is an emotional enigma - a puzzle to friends and suspects alike - it is a separation she must continue to uphold in order to be able to do the job every day.

Though she keeps things close to the vest, and the others do not always see the difference, she knows the emotions she has allowed into her heart have enabled her to become a better investigator. And a better friend. These people she works with every day - her colleagues, her friends - they have found their way into her life and into her heart. And now, she would be leaving them. It was bad enough that she would have to mourn Jenny, but she must do it alone, and far away from her surrogate family. If she knew Mossad at all - and this was an agency she knew intimately - then she would likely never see these people again. The thought of it made her heart twinge anew, and she rapidly blinked suddenly moist eyes.

The Mossad officer urged her to go home, pack and get ready for her new assignment. The NCIS liaison pushed her toward checking in with her partner before he had to ship out. The woman yearned to spend these last hours grieving for her friend and offering comfort to the man she had grown to love. The woman won out.

Turning the engine off and removing her key from the ignition, Ziva quickly exited her car and walked briskly through the deepening twilight toward the townhouse across the street. Muffled crashes, followed by a guttural howl, sent her heart to her throat. Fear kicked in her adrenaline response and, drawing her weapon, she ran the last few meters to the front door. Not bothering to announce her arrival, she tested the door and found it unlocked. The knob turned easily in her hand so she pushed it silently open. The sounds of destruction amplified and, as she crossed the threshold, she could tell they were coming from the living room. Plastering herself against the wall she eased around the corner and shot a quick look into the room.

The sight that greeted her made her freeze in shock. The room was in shambles. Furniture was overturned, shelving destroyed and various crushed debris littered the floor. In the center of it all stood Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, his whole body vibrating in anger as he stood with his back to her, head swiveling about - seeking a further outlet for his fury. Tony, completely unaware of her presence, continued his destructive rampage. She watched with a heavy heart as he grabbed a lamp from the only table still standing and flung it with gargantuan force into the huge television - sending sparks and shards of glass flying as the appliance nearly disintegrated under the onslaught.

"Tony?" Her words were only a whisper, hardly making it past her parched lips. He wouldn't have heard her anyway. Tears spilled over her lashes as she witnessed his tirade. She laid her gun on the entry table, and moved cautiously toward him as he scanned the area for his next victim. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Tony!"

Tony jerked around, arm swinging, fist flying. Ziva's reflexes were quick and she managed to avoid the worst of it. Even still, he caught a glancing blow off her right cheek. She stumbled, shaking stars from her vision, and clamped her hand to his wrist. Years of training had her twisting him about and expertly pinning his arm up behind his back, while she pivoted on her hip and sent him face first to the ground, her own body landing on top of his and weighing him down. With a thunderous bellow, Tony reared back, smacking his skull into Ziva's mouth, smashing her teeth into her lips and drawing blood. He flung his shoulders back, shaking her smaller form off, but only managed to turn halfway over before she laid him flat with a powerful right cross.

Ziva took advantage of her partner's momentary confusion to roll him completely onto his back, where she again dropped her weight onto his torso. "Tony!" She placed her hands on either side of his face and forced his manic gaze to look at her - to _see_ her.

"Ziva?" Confusion shrouded his face for a moment before he saw the blood on her lips and it was replaced by a dawning horror. "Oh, God! Ziva!" His lids dropped closed over anguished eyes and he turned his head away, pushing against the pressure of her hold as he attempted to roll onto his side and curl into himself. "Jesus – I'm sorry. Sorry." His hoarse whisper became a litany of apology. "Sorry." A mantra repeated several times over. "Sorry. I'm sorry." Ziva knew he was apologizing for more than the new bruises now forming on her face.

"Tony – you do not need to apologize." She turned and quickly wiped her mouth off across the sleeve on her shoulder before once again shifting her attention back to her broken partner. "You have done nothing wrong, Tony."

He shook his head, stubbornly refusing to believe her. Sucking in great gulps of air, his chest stuttered beneath her as he attempted, and failed, to hold in the pain-filled sobs. Ziva's heart broke. Laying her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and allowed her own grief to find its way to the surface; silent tears dropping onto his face to mingle with his before sliding down his cheeks. His cries sliced into her soul and made her ache for lost friends, lost family, lost loves, lost opportunities. Memories of those who had gone before flooded her consciousness, and she pressed herself closer to her partner, needing the physical proof that he was not yet among those lost to her. His solid presence kept her grounded, allowing her to remain in control and keep the pieces of herself from flying in twenty different directions.

Slowly, Tony's husky voice began to penetrate the cloud of memories she had fallen into, and as she became aware of it, she realized his silent agony was intermittently broken with hiccoughed words of condemnation.

"My fault," he croaked. "I should have stopped – should have – didn't listen – you told me – should have – stuh – stopped…"

"Tony, No!" Ziva twisted around and sat up next to him. She tugged at his shoulders, lifting his dead-weight and wrapping her arms around him. Cradling his head against her chest, she laced her fingers in the fine hair at the back of his head and held him tight.

"None of it was your fault! Do you hear me? Tony? It would not have mattered if we had followed the director – she would still be gone." She pulled him closer, crushing him to her body as they gently rocked back and forth, willing him to feel her – to accept her comfort. "The only thing we may have accomplished, had we been there, is to have lost our own lives alongside hers." She laid her cheek against the side of his head, her lips brushing his temple as she whispered words in attempt to convince him of the truth – silently begging him to accept the absolution for sins in which he held no blame.

"My fault." He gasped once again. "Ih-ignored my gut. T-too worried about my butt…" a strangled bark of laughter accompanied that last, followed by a gasp as he stiffened and brought his head up, panic-filled eyes searching her face. "You shouldn't be here – go, Ziva!" He pushed away from her grasp, shoving up and onto his feet in a singular burst of energy. "You need to leave!" He brushed past her and stalked into the entryway.

Pain and confusion warred within Ziva as she slowly rose to her feet. In angry swipes she brushed the moisture from her face and flicked her hands against the dust on the seat of her pants. Taking a final moment to compose herself, she squared her shoulders and turned the corner toward the front door.

Tony stood at the portal, his hand on the knob as he held the door open for her departure. He was turned away from her, facing the darkening twilight beyond the threshold, though she had doubts as to whether or not he really saw any of it. His shoulders pulsed up and down as his chest expanded and contracted around his labored breathing – his emotions still hovering on the surface and barely held in check.

Slowly she approached; worry creasing her forehead and fear twisting her heart. His dismissal had hurt, but she did not believe he meant it as such. She wasn't sure what his motivations were right now – other than grief and self-recrimination. Perhaps he still did not believe that he deserved comfort.

"Tony…" He jerked his arm from her grasp, flattening himself against the wall as he pushed back from her touch.

"You have to go, Ziva! I can't… I – it's not safe! I'm – I – please, Ziva!" Tears dropped unchecked from eyes that pleaded with her to understand. "I – I can't, aahh – c-can't lose - … Not you, too!"

Understanding dawned, and Ziva felt her heart constrict as she realized - he was afraid. Gently she pried the doorknob from his grasp and closed the door with a quiet snick. She locked her gaze with his, projecting a calm radiance as she moved into his personal space. He cringed back, eyes wide like a caged animal, watching her as she lifted her arms, and placed gentle hands on either side of his face. He struggled to turn away, but was held spellbound by her watery gaze.

"It is going to be alright, Tony. You will get through this. We will get through this." Her dulcet tones were soothing, but he remained wary. "You do not have to go through this alone, Tony."

"Always alone." His whispered words barely registered, but his renewed resolve had him reaching up to grasp her shoulders in attempt to push her away.

Ziva refused to allow him to shut her out. She planted herself firmly in front of him, and leaned into his body, forcing his eyes to remain locked with hers. "You are not alone, Tony."

"Please, Ziva!" His grasp tightened on her shoulders, desperation clogging the words in his throat. "Please understand! I hurt them – all. Failed them! The director, Jeanne – K-Kate…Don't you see? It's not safe – I'm not safe! You – you have to go." His shoulders slumped in defeat and he closed his eyes as he sighed and touched his forehead wearily to hers. He begged her to understand, "Leave, Ziva. Please. Before I hurt you, too."

"You are not to blame, Tony!" She hissed vehemently, grasping his face more firmly as she ducked to look up into his down turned eyes. "Life is not always fair, and circumstances arise that cause people to get hurt. It is not you! You are not some – some kind of – curse. You are a man, Tony – not a plague to be quarantined! Your heart has been wounded, so many times, yet you still hold such capacity for love and compassion. You cannot deny yourself the comfort of others, of your friends; simply because there is a possibility someone will get hurt! That possibility surrounds each one of us every day! We cannot go through life cowering in fear of that possibility, Tony. We must risk that possibility if we are to have any kind of life worth living!"

"What if it's not worth the risk, Ziva?" With the whispered question, Tony's head fell back to thump against the wall while his heavy gaze searched the ceiling above, as if the answer could be found amidst the open beams.

"It is always worth the risk, Tony." His head came back down at Ziva's words, this time seeking the answers in her eyes, and she leaned even closer. Her breath was a ghost across his skin as she whispered, "_You_ are worth the risk, Tony." The lightest of touches, barely a brush of her lips against his, as she became the one pleading with him to understand.

"But I'm not." His words pushed out in a gravel-soaked voice, fighting past the damage from his earlier cries and the tightness of emotions threatening to strangle him. His hand left her shoulder, but a warm tingle of awareness remained. He cupped her cheek, gently tracing his thumb across the angry red evidence of his earlier loss of control. "I've already hurt you too much."

She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing momentarily, before blinking back open – searching his face – seeking answers to questions she hadn't known she wanted to ask. "I am strong, Tony. It will take more than a fist or your hard-head to count me down."

"Out." He whispered.

She cocked her head, eyes worried, fear tugging at her heels. He still wanted her to leave?

The barest flicker of a smile twitched his lips. "The expression, Ziva, is "Count you out", not down." Hope blossomed anew in her breast as she caught a hint of the old sparkle in his eyes. It was nowhere near the intensity of his normal megawatt "Tony" personality, but if he was correcting her English again, then the light at the end of the tunnel was near.

"I hate that I hurt you." He leaned forward, his lips grazing softly across her cheek, banishing any lingering pain and setting a cloud of insects to flutter in her stomach. "I don't want to ever hurt you again." His lips descended once more to plant the softest of kisses on the corner of her mouth, and her split lip became a memory long forgotten.

"You will not." She promised, kissing his rough jaw in return. "I will not let you." A predatory gleam flickered in her eyes, and this time, when their lips met, she leaned in, pouring herself into the action and opening herself up to this man in a way she had never done before.

Tony gasped as his heart jumped in his chest, attempting to burst through his ribcage. Years of subtle innuendo and not-so-subtle teasing rushed through him, and when her tongue flicked out to trace his bottom lip, his last vestiges of control crumbled. With a groan of pure need he enveloped her in his arms, crushing her body to his as he sucked her lip into his mouth and attempted to devour her.

She shoved him back against the wall, and reached around to grasp his head, straining against him, trying to get even closer. Their tongues waged a battle, dueling back and forth for supremacy, as their hands clutched at each other, attempting to touch everywhere at once.

Tony's right arm encircled her in a crushing embrace, his large hand splayed across her back, as his left traveled lower, grasping her bottom and clenching strong fingers into the muscle with a possessive grip as he molded his body into hers. She squirmed against him, her soft curves flattened against him and then melting into his hardness, as she tried to climb into his skin.

The need for oxygen had them gasping as they tore their mouths apart. Tony took a gulping breath and plunged back in, his lips and teeth leaving a fiery trail as he nipped and sucked his way across her jaw and down the slender column of her throat. The smooth expanse of skin reddened with the abrasion of his beard, and pinpricks of blood rose below the surface under the onslaught of his passion. Ziva reveled at the sensation, gasping at each new contact, a need building deep within her at the pressure of each kiss, and a jolt of pure electricity twanging through her at each scrape of teeth across her flesh.

"Tony!" her words caught in a gasp as he lifted her against him once more, the evidence of his need abundantly clear as he pressed his hips against her, grinding his pelvis into the juncture between her thighs. "Oh, Please, Tony!"

His head lifted, eyes pools of deep black ringed in green, and his brow raised in question. The answer in her eyes had him crushing her lips beneath his once again as he growled in the back of his throat, sending hot tingles down her spine. God! She loved it when he made that noise! He bent his knees, wrapped his arms tightly about her waist, and lifted her off her feet. Ziva eagerly wrapped her strong legs around his hips, pressing against him as they bumped along the corridor and up the stairs.

As he kicked the bedroom door closed behind them, he metaphorically closed the door on the rest of the world. Tomorrow would be soon enough to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives and to begin the laborious task of figuring out where to go from here. Tomorrow they would face the grisly possibility of saying good-bye to each other – perhaps forever. But tonight, for this moment in time, there was nothing in the world except the two of them. Tonight, secluded in a city of millions, was a night for the reaffirmation of life. A night to prove to themselves, and to each other, that they remained alive and vibrant and whole. It was a night, where two torn souls, behind the security of that closed door and in the comfort of one another's arms, would find the strength they needed to continue on, and the peace they needed to begin to mend.

End


End file.
